Houston We Have A Problem
by CircusPuppy
Summary: I live in a relatively nice apartment. I recently paid off my med school debts. I have an on-and-off again girlfriend that makes me feel both impossibly miserable and extraordinarily good. I'm not friends with Desmond Miles, but occasionally we get along. And I don't always keep strange men in my apartment, but when I do, they're exceptionally mouth-watering and very tempting.


It wasn't even mine to begin with.

Honestly.

I was only holding it for Desmond Miles, my occasional best-friend whom I'd met after picking up my regularly best-friend from an awkward one-nighter. She'd hadn't even been properly drunk. I know this because I know Shaina. Shaina likes to get naked. Any excuse is good, any night of any day she was game. And in her defense Desmond Miles was by no means an unattractive man. On the contrary, Desmond was quite the specimen. Deadly handsome with the unnerving ability to be as charming as the human male could manage.

I digress.

It wasn't my fault.

His stupid ANIMUS. Stupid, stupid thing.

I was going to call him first thing in the morning after I had at least an hour's sleep. Coming back from the graveyard shift at the emergency room on a Friday night meant my ideal early morning hours were spent sleeping. Maybe a smoke, maybe some nice greasy pizza, heavy on the sausage easy on the veggies; but no choice seemed plausible at the moment. Not with the ridiculous thing spewing out the national fucking anthem of defective machinery. When I called him I was going to blister his ear. I was going to piss fire. He was going to drag his fine-ass over to my apartment and take that nasty whirring thing out of my kitchen. He'd take it back to the lab with that pretentious little bastard Shaun, and it was going to stay there.

I hope they have insurance on this thing. It would be a damn shame if it got picked up by the garbage truck and crushed with all the other useless trash.

It spat out a spark and burnt my bare foot.

"Yeah, fuck you to buddy."

Another scalding spark.

I guess I shouldn't have kicked it. Once, I kicked my oven door and broke my big toe. Another time I shoved my left foot into an old TV and almost lost it. This thing wasn't an oven or a television. In the words of Shaun, it was a "Miracle of physics".

I didn't understand physics in college. I mean, I totally got friction and force because it was applicable to my lifestyle, but otherwise I barely stayed alive in that class.

Anyways, I kicked the miracle of physics.

So sure, in a roundabout way it was somewhat my fault. But I'm going with the excuse of it being an accident. A valid excuse. Outside of the ER, or any emergency situation, I lack control of the body God gave me. It's simple really. Without any urgent needs my synapses flood with needless energy. My motor-control is abysmal. Once I fell through a second-story window the same day I saved a man's life.

I tripped over air and knocked the ANIMUS over. For fuck's sake don't sue me, it was giving attitude. It landed with pointless clamor, and gave an overly dramatic display of guttering and crackling. It shot me in the knee with an infantile strike of lightning, and I went down with a grunt.

I've never been electrocuted before, but I suppose this was good enough.

I came to just in time to see it spit out a huge glob of pure energy. The bluish power spidered out over a hunched form of masculine build. Out from underneath the rearing power, I saw a pale hand reach out from the chaos and knuckle the floor.

Calloused. Scratched. Red sleeve with white fabric beneath, and a motherfucking sword.

Not just a funny sword either. Not a Comic Con skip bartered over on Amazon-I'm talking some real Game of Throne's shit over here. This was the kind of thing that could take off Joffrey's head no problem. This kind of thing was as long as my thigh and the handler could probably make a frickin' kebab out of me.

The instinct to survive kicked in, and my once clumsy body made the useful metamorphosis from pointless kultz to deadly Mexican badass bent on _not_ dying mere days after I paid off my med school loans.

I went for the bottle of Tequila on my kitchen counter. I was gonna knock this alien out cold. I was gonna cut him up into little pieces and stock him in my freezer, then I'd call the cops and put in a statement. They couldn't arrest me. I was a female living alone. I had rights.

The blue energy had receded leaving a lone white man, groaning in pain on my floor, like an unwanted sack of dog crap.

Not an alien yet, but I could sense it in the cosmos he was disturbing the natural order of things.

It croaked, "Bloody hell."

And _woah_. That voice was heavenly. That voice was like dark chocolate. That voice pooled low in my belly, and made me want to lick something. Anything. Everything. All the things on him.

"Connor."

Sweet Jesus.

"Connor, this is _not_ a game."

Well fuck, I wish I was Connor. No. _No Alaina_. This man was an intruder. This man had a sword. This man was in my house, and while I was no longer adverse to the situation, I was still leary of that Alaina-killer in his hand.

Wow he had some big hands. Nice, too. Big hands probably meant he had a big dick, right? Right. I'm a doctor, I know these things.

"No." I muttered. "No dick."

At one point he struggled to lift himself up, but promptly fell back down again. Evidently, he'd had an unpleasent trip from nerdtopia. His costume was exceptionally good. To my knowledge Comic Con had passed. He had no excuse to be dressed like he stepped out of the American Revolution. He was either legitimately insane or a nut.

Crazy nut.

I tightened my grip on the bottle and raised it over my head.

"Connor-where the bloody hell am I?" He turned around with the graceful agility of a lion, his robes sweeping across the floor.

"What the devil?" A steely grey gaze locked mine down, traveled up to the raised bottle of alcohol and back down to my tense face. I commanded my ovaries to stop vibrating.

He repeated, "Where the bloody hell am I."

"America, bitch."

And I brought the bottle down.

The British man kissed the floor. After watching him a bit, mostly to ensure he wasn't going to rocket off the ground and do some English ass-kicking, I made my strategic moves. I picked up his sword-with both hands, the thing was damn heavy, and deposited it in my trashcan. I hog-tied him with the rope I used to strangle a pinata for my niece's birthday party. I edged around the ANIMUS which was still bitching on the floor. I picked up my mobile and dialed Desmond's number. I made myself a cup of coffee and waited.

I didn't particularly care if he was asleep. If I suffered, we all suffered.

Fate was with me that night, which was a good thing because that bitch owed me. Desmond picked up the phone. He groaned, "Why, 'Laina?"

"Get to my place."

In the state of blurred wakefulness Desmond unwisely refused. "Can't it wait?"

I poured a finger's worth of tequila into my mug. "No."

"I'm not in the mood for sex. Jeez, call your girlfriend."

"She's not my girlfriend...and besides, she's in Italy."

"Alaina...tomorrow, kay?"

"Your ass. My apartment. Now. Your stupid machine just spit up a British dude, and if you're not here in the next twenty minutes I'm killing him."

Oh, that fucker was awake now. "Omigod. You wouldn't kill him." I could hear him stumble out of bed and knock around for decent clothes.

"Uh, yeah I would. I'm a doctor. I could totally kill him."

"Didn't you take an oath?"

"Maybe. But it doesn't cover this shit."

"I can be there in thirty."

The ANIMUS started to whirr again.

"Twenty."

"I have to drive across town!"

"It is three in the morning-and you know what? Never mind. I'm cutting off a testicle."

 **Ahem.**

 **Hello.**

 **Alright, let's begin with a confession: This is my first AC fic. It is also the first fic ever, after writing on here quite a while back, that I have written for a very, very long time. I was a horrible writer. I'm hoping I've improved. This is my attempt.**

 **I told myself I was not going to write a fanfiction about AC. I swore. I failed. All I own in this fic is the plot and the mistakes. I don't like calling Alaina an OC because she's a character of convenience. She literally only exists for the purpose of this story. I haven't developed her or thought long and hard about her, but I know I will never use her again. A harsh truth.**

 **I'm starting with Haytham, and next chapter I'm telling you now is Connor, mostly because they speak English. Purely because they speak English. I'm totally dragging Ezio into this because his character is too hard to resist, lemme just figure out how.**

 **I don't believe in Mary Sues unless its a parady. I'm telling you straight out there will be no romance. Lust for sure, maybe some affection, maybe a little confusion of feelings BUT I never intended on making this a romance, because let's be honest Alaina isn't going back in time to live with any of them. She just paid off her debt. And none of the boys are going to stay with her, they got shit to do.**

 **Okay, that aside, reviews make the world go round. Favorites and follows are cool and all, but I like the review icon and by all accounts so should you.**

 **That's it for now, thanks for reading, signing off,**

 **CircusPuppy**


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